


Three Nights Into the Dark

by bukkunmoonsin (bukkunkun), dettsu



Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Blood, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Loss, Military, Sexual Content, Widowed, na medyo super intense sorry po
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunmoonsin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettsu/pseuds/dettsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Extra Rose AU Chapter, aka:</p><p>Greg is the Bearer of Bad News but He’s Still Trying to be a Good Boy feat. Issa Knows All and Jules Deserves Better </p><p>(The Origin Story of JulIssa, and that "missing scene" from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5439395/chapters/12844506">Zingiberaceae</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night 01

**Author's Note:**

> from [Det's post](http://dettsu.tumblr.com/post/136342651040/three-nights-into-the-dark) on tumblr:
> 
> Hello, friends! @bukkun-moonsin and I collaborated on a thing for her original Rose AU work and a list of headcanons became a chapter and a chapter became a 10-page intro to something we didn’t expect ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) But well, here we are! 
> 
> Warnings include us trying to keep these people in character without sacrificing important plot lines, dubcon (but it depends if we go around it properly pls pray that we do haha), and some gay near the end of the whole work.
> 
> These extra chapters center on Goyong’s redemption arc of sorts, as he tries to fulfill Rusca’s last wish. He travels on horseback to Cagayan, to tell Paco’s wife what happened in Cabanatuan.
> 
> from bukkun:  
> Eyyyyyyy so remember when I said I wasn't going to write nsfw HAHAHAHA JOKE LANG NEW YEAR NEW ME IKA NGA LMAOOOOOOOO ORAYT
> 
> So, ayun na nga. Mareng Det and I are writing this because of accidental gay ships and the overwhelming need to write the modern AU of this, feat. Radyo Langit™ and its DJ's DJ Pacomoko and DJ Mamwellgoddamnit. 
> 
> S/o to #TeamPechay over at twitter, mga gago kayong lahat, mahal ko kayo.

It was quite a windy afternoon in Alcala. But despite that, Del Pilar took his hat off and wiped the sweat off his forehead, his rose petals swaying in the wind and shivering in the cold. He had been travelling for days on horse, accompanied by a small group of ten, assigned once again to deliver news. Bad news.

“Col. Francisco Velasquez Román was killed in Cabanatuan 7 days ago. In… action? While protecting Luna…? How do I… hmm.”

The young general rehearsed the lines in his head. He personally had to make sure the late colonel’s wife should be able to take the news, Rusca asked him to. Along with the favor were some trinkets and a letter for the kids. The _kapitan_ had promised to visit and play soon. He needed to apologize for another broken promise.

(But then again, Rusca was dead. What was sure of a promise falling heard on dead ears?)

“The things you do for love,” Del Pilar whispered. He’d be a liar if he said he never read Rusca’s letter. It was a long travel and he was curious. Promises of traveling the _hacienda_ by horse and playing by the river near the Román household were only a few of the listed things the children wanted to do. He wondered if Rusca would be like that towards his own kids, not that he would have kids. He shook his head at the thought.

“ _Heneral_ , I think we’ve arrived at the correct house.”

The young general wiped his forehead once more before putting his hat back on. “All right, at ease.” He got off his horse and fixed his uniform, looking to his aide for assurance.

“You look _fine_ , Goyong,” his aide sighed. Col. Vicente Enriquez was just as tired as any soldier on a week’s journey. But Del Pilar regarded Vicente’s sudden slip of the tongue as a slow cooking opportunity to annoy him.

“Enriquez.”

“Sir,” he sighed again. His petals, a mild peach, curled in on themselves in fatigue.

“Nothing. I’ll talk to her by myself. Wait for my orders outside their yard.”

“Yes, sir. Hopefully, it’s just a talk, ha?”

“What was that?”

“We’ll wait outside, _Goyong._ ”

The general made his way to the front door with a prideful smile. _Just a talk_ , he said. Hopefully, he can end this quicker than he should. Maybe he could charm his way out of it? After all, who had even resisted the wiles of the charismatic Gen. Gregorio Del Pilar? Since Poleng, of course. But that was for another discussion.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. “ _Tao po?_ ” No answer. Vicente was in charge of looking for the right house, and he’d be in trouble if this were the wrong one. He waited for a while longer before knocking again. “ _Tao po..?_ ” A few minutes later, there was a quiet shuffling of footsteps. He fixed his hat and dusted his epaulettes, ready to flash his signature smile. The general was greeted by a small cough and a tiny creak of the door.

“Yes?” A dainty woman answered his call. She looked too pretty to be a helper, but seemed too young to be a colonel’s wife. Beads of sweat framed her face, and her pink lips were quivering. _Is she nervous?_ , he thought. But she was pale and shaking. The rose on her wrist—a beautiful bright red of the lovely _senyoritas_ he wasted time chasing after in his youth—was tightly closed, quivering.

“I’m looking for Juliana Piqueras. Does she live here?”

“Oh,” she coughed, “I’m Juliana,” her eyes skimmed over his brooches and shoulders. “General?”

“Del Pilar,” he answered.

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. _She knows._ He gestured to ask if he could come in, and she stepped aside to let him pass.

The house was small and quaint. One wouldn’t think it was the house of the owner of the couple hundred hectares he traveled through to find it. But it was definitely Román’s house, very reflective of his character, too. The muebles were made of thick wood, _Molave?_ And the spaces were intimate and simple. There was an altar by the stairs, and some photos of the late colonel smiling with his wife. Del Pilar frowned.

“Um, _ginang_ ,” he began, reminding himself that in her knowledge, she was still married. “Would it be all right if—ginang?”

Juliana was grabbing onto a nearby table when he looked back at her. “Ginang!” Her limbs had given way by the time he reached the late colonel’s wife, her body shaking in his arms as her consciousness slowly slipped. _Shit, fever._ The general took out his handkerchief, one without embroidery, and wiped the sweat on her cheeks.

“Fran… cisco…”

* * *

“She’ll be fine, Kuya Goyong. Don’t worry too much, it’s just a slight fever. You haven’t even done _anything_ yet, what more if you tried wooing her?”

Vicente was met with a light jab on the arm, “Oh, shut up. Where are the others?” His aide laughed, the general didn’t even try denying.

“They’re outside with the kids. They seem to be having fun.” The two soldiers looked out the window, their men’s heads adorned with various flowers and plants. The little girl, Carmen, had been making them laugh with her cute dances. The soldiers sang as her brother, Juan, played guitar.

“Seems like it. Well, I’ll handle it from here. Take them to the town outside the hacienda, I’m sure you can find good homes that will accommodate everyone.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Someone has to take care of her. I’ll take responsibility.”

“Pfft, as if that’s the only thing you’ll take.”

“Oh, get out of here!”

* * *

By the time Juliana woke up, the sun had already set. In a panic, she jolted from the bed and rushed to her children’s room. The sudden action caused her a headache, but she paid it no mind. To her relief, the kids were already asleep, tucked in and the bedside lamp unlit.

She went downstairs to confirm her weird dream. A general in khaki had come to her house, but after that she remembered nothing else. Like how she got in the master’s bedroom. By the altar, she peered into the living room.

In the sala, the general sat with his leg across the other. His cap was on the side table, his profile illuminated by the lamp beside him.

“General… Del Pilar..?”

The soldier looked up from what he was reading. It was last week’s periodical.

“Oh, bin—ginang. You’re awake. Sorry I didn’t bother waking you. I cooked dinner for the children, and tucked them in after they ate. Carmen needed a good book but Juan was quick to sleep.”

The young woman nodded, with as much hesitation as any woman towards a stranger in her own house. But he also seemed… _harmless_ … as much as any military man with the initiative to cook for someone else’s children and tuck them in bed.

“Ah, there’s some food left. I was just waiting for you to come to. Would you like to join me, ginang?”

* * *

The entire duration of the dinner was quiet. The general even gave her some medication and an extra glass of water. Not once did he let her stand up. He was answered with simple nods and smiles. He finished eating ahead of her, and he took that time to observe the late colonel’s wife. Her wavy black hair framed her pale face, color slowly coming back to her cheeks as she recovered from the fever. Her movements small and the way her hands held the cobiertos spoke to him. Her lips were a soft pink, and her smiles made her eyes crinkle. In the candlelight, she was more beautiful, and her rose—oh, her rose was _magnificent_.

_Román made a mistake._

Juliana looked up, catching the general staring at her, and averted her eyes immediately. “Ah, I’m sorry! I know it’s rude to stare but… I couldn’t help it.”

“I’m married, general.”

Her ring glistened in the dim light. Del Pilar couldn’t help but smile sadly either.

“I know.”

_A terrible mistake._

“But please, ginang. Let me take care of you and the children. I just need a place to rest before my men and I leave Cagayan.”

Juliana hesitated. Del Pilar was alone, he explained, but he did not _seem_ to bear any ill intentions. His men were in town a short horse ride away. And her aide Luisa? She won’t be home until tomorrow.

“I… suppose…”

 _Ay, thank God._ He gave a sigh of relief and finally flashed his signature smile. She averted her eyes again. The ginang was no longer pale, as the blood rushed to her cheeks. Del Pilar chuckled.

After the plates were washed, Juliana left one on the table along with a pair of cobiertos. She stayed at the dining area staring at the plate for a while longer before finally turning her attention to her visitor. The general was mindful enough not to ask. The ginang then led Del Pilar to her room, which he was already familiar with since he carried her there this afternoon. He thought he might have wrongly presented his intentions. She was a woman who was alone in her house and she had just deliberately taken him to her bedroom. It was already deep into the night and there was nothing that helped them see but the candlelight. Is she going to..?

“General, you can borrow my husband’s clothes. And you can use this room to rest. I’ll sleep with my children.”

Maybe not.

“You can leave your uniform by the door outside so I can wash it in the morning. Um… please, sleep well. Thank you for taking care of us.”

She smiled and took her leave.

_She’s too kind for her own good._

“Good night, ginang.”

_Maybe I’ll tell her tomorrow instead._


	2. Night 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr version here.](http://dettsu.tumblr.com/post/136386498485/three-nights-into-the-dark)

If he were in charge of this household, Del Pilar really wouldn’t let Juliana do any more chores. But she insisted in washing his uniform to make up for his kind deeds the day before. She still even couldn’t look him straight in the eye because her screams roused him from his sleep last night. He held her in his arms as her tears poured endlessly from her heart, her nightmares full of blood and gunshots and images of a dead husband.

All the more Del Pilar couldn’t break the news.

Instead, he spent time with the Román children where Juliana did her laundry at the nearby river bank. Carmen was _very_ fond of him, while Juan asked him about life in the camps and his travels. And of course, Kuya Eduardo.

_The kids are worried about you, Dodong. If only you could see them. If only talking about you wasn’t as painful._

He carefully avoided questions about him. Even remembering hurts.

“Mama hasn't smiled like that in a long time.”

The little boy sat beside the general, Carmen’s head resting on the older boy’s lap. Del Pilar had been chasing children all morning. His eyes turned to the small lady thoroughly washing his uniform. He frowned. He felt bad for not telling her yet.

“Really?”

But if she hadn’t been this happy in a while, he’d rather stall.

“Yeah, she misses papa a lot. She still gets bad dreams about him every night.”

He thought he was doing Rusca a small favor.

“Like last night? Is she like that every night?”

The boy nodded. He was doing Rusca a _huge_ favor.

“Mama likes you. I think you remind her of papa, that’s why she’s like that.”

Del Pilar laughed.

“I think it’s just because I’m wearing your papa’s clothes.”

Juan was perceptive for his age, he thought. He does sense a bit of fondness from her, like her daughter. Except Carmen was more direct and outright adorable about it. Not that Juliana wasn’t adorable, but he’d rather not think about it.

“Will you be here for a long time?”

“I doubt it. I have work to do. But I’ll try to visit.”

“That’s what Kuya Eduardo said, too.”

_Perhaps getting shot by Americans would have been easier than this, Dodong._

* * *

The sun was setting again, and Juliana had just finished folding the remaining clothes she washed and ironed this morning. They had an early dinner, care of their visitor, and he was already getting the children ready for bed. Juliana was thankful today was not like other days, when things were hard to deal with because the tears wouldn’t stop. Every nook and cranny of the house had Paco’s essence, and it was hard to cope without him for longer months without replies to any of their letters.

She sighed as she finished arranging the clothes in their aparador, her dresses and sayas stacked neatly beside her husband’s unused shirts. His scent was still there.

“Francisco… Please come home soon… Or at least write back. Paco, mahal, your children miss you so much. So so much…”

Outside, Del Pilar was leaning against the door. He was just about to knock and finally tell her, but he decided against it. He just listened to her lullaby as she sobbed into one of Paco’s shirts.

Juliana opened the door after a while, and caught the general just standing by. She immediately rubbed her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry! How long have you been there? I should have—”

“It’s all right,” he interrupted. “This is your house, ginang. I’m just a visitor.” Del Pilar couldn't bear seeing any girl being sad, especially someone like Juliana. So he cupped her face and wiped her tears with his thumbs. He may have renounced his playful lifestyle, but the romantic in him will never leave. He took an unembroidered handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her, “Something to get you by, ginang. Please use it.”

She replied with a small nod, and wiped her face with the piece of cloth. It took her another minute or so to compose herself, but he waited in front of her just in case she fainted again. Her sniffles eventually lessened and she tucked her hair behind her ear. But before she could give another anticipated apology, Del Pilar spoke.

“Do you need help with those?”

He gestured towards the stack of papers she held. _Letters from Román?_ She held them tighter. _Or for Román?_

“Um… I just needed to arrange them before I keep them. The children wanted to send them when Eduardo arrives… But maybe you can send them instead?”

_Shit._

“Sure.” The lie, if it ever was, tasted like poison on his tongue. Sharp, like the sting of needles, and the taste of the sap that trickled out of roses when petals were plucked out.

He forced a smile on his face, and wondered if that was what Román always tasted when he talked of his wife. The thought of it made his gut twist, and discreetly, he tucked his rose behind his back, where the ginang could not see it curl up in shame.

* * *

Luisa had strolled the remaining of her travel to the Román household after the wheel of the karitela she was riding went loose. The driver apologized and told her he would fix it quickly, but she insisted she needed the exercise.

_Why is there a white horse outside the yard?_

Driven by instinct, Luisa cautiously opened the front door and made sure she wouldn’t make the slightest noise. If she needed to use force, a basket full of fruits should be enough to help amplify the strength of her hit.

Juliana was arranging pieces of paper in the living room. _Is she… smiling?_ Her giggling was a new melody to Luisa’s ears. _Señora seems so happy, I wonder what_ — _what!_

Beside her was a familiar general, _in Señor Román’s clothes!_ And he was also… smiling… and laughing with Juliana, his hands brushing against hers as they sorted and read through the letters. In Luisa’s eyes, they seemed to be _too close for comfort._ They had been exchanging friendly banter and the general gently nudged Juliana by the shoulder with his own, making Luisa grit her teeth.

_Even until here?! The nerve!_

As the maiden stomped her feet towards them to make her presence known, Juliana turned to her and stood up, her hand in Del Pilar’s.

“Señora.”

The ginang quickly pulled her hands to her side.

“Luisa! We… um… we have a visitor.”

“I can see that, señora,” her words sharp like the shards of the broken lampara she’d hit the general with if he tried anything stupid. “It’s getting late, _maybe he should be on his way_.”

Del Pilar stood beside Juliana, stack of paper in hand, smirk slowly gracing his face. “This is General Del Pilar. He’s staying with us for a while to rest—”

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow for Ilocos, actually.”

Juliana looked at him, he just nodded. “Luisa, leave early tomorrow so we can have a hearty lunch and an early dinner before the general leaves.”

Luisa’s face had nothing less than a scowl, her blood pressure shooting up the moment Del Pilar placed a hand on the ginang’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do that for me,” Juliana placed her hand over his.

“I don’t want you to leave hungry.”

The maiden coughed. Juliana lightly pushed the general’s hand off her shoulder.

“Señora—”

“I will be retiring for the evening, you can leave the fruits and vegetables on the kitchen counter. Good night, Luisa.”

The ginang looked again at Del Pilar, but he insisted on carrying the letters for her. Juliana was first to climb the stairs, and the general followed, his hand climbing to the small of her back to assist her. If glares could burn holes, Luisa had already left several holes on the general’s hand. Maybe even set fire to his rose.

That evening, it had been Luisa who attended to Juliana when she was jolted awake by her nightmares. Del Pilar could only peer through the slightly open door from the corridor.

_Am I missing something?_

The maiden held both of Juliana’s hands tight, as her señora rested her head on Luisa’s bosom. Each droplet of tear was a knife to Del Pilar’s heart.

_She seems different than I remember._

Juan was also woken up. But he just hugged his mother, urging her to calm down. He repeated his words lazily as routine had tired him so, “Papa will come home. Don’t worry about him, mama. Go back to sleep. Nanay Luisa will look after us.”

_I’ll tell her while Luisa is gone._


	3. Day 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr version here](http://dettsu.tumblr.com/post/136462373890/three-nights-into-the-dark).

The house was quiet this morning. With the children out with Luisa, chores were finished quicker. Just in time for lunch.

And for Del Pilar, he had to act fast before anything else could happen to prevent him from talking. Children’s letters in hand, he knocked on the master bedroom’s door.

“Ginang?”

He had readied his belongings prior, and his uniform was clean and crisp on his shoulders. Even the brooches were not forgiven as she had polished them, just as she was used to when Paco stayed at home. Del Pilar held his hat under his armpit, waiting for her to answer.

“Come in, general.”

He opened the door and approached her, his steps as slow and steady as his heart. He had two nights to prepare, after all. Bad news was not new to him as a soldier of the Revolutionary Government, and it reminded him of his own predicament. He dealt with his loss like he would any death, just with more remorse and and even more regret. He thought his rose would change color that night, but Rusca’s words made him decide. He should be strong for him, for them. He needed that strength. Juliana needed it. And he would lend his strength to her like he promised Rusca. 

She was wiping the picture frame with Román’s first photograph wearing his uniform. He knew because she told him the first night he slept here. And she was looking at Román so lovingly like they were married just yesterday. She turned to Del Pilar. He swallowed.

“Ginang… I would have to apologize.”

“For what, general?”

His grip on the letters tightened. He swallowed again.

“I can’t give these anymore.”

“Ah, well I know you’re a busy man, I could just tell the postman—”

“Ed—I mean, Kapitan Rusca, he… was arrested for... insubordination.”

He lied. Dear  _ God _ , let he be forgiven.

“He was to be transferred to a prison in Cebu some days ago but…”

He could see her shaking.

“The ship sank.”

And the frame fell on the ground, the glass scattering at her feet. Román’s face remained smiling as she remained still where she stood. Del Pilar couldn’t look at her, as his eyes were glued to the floor. But Román’s face stared back at him, and irritation scratched his throat like bad medicine. He fought the urge to fidget.

“I think you understand now, ginang… the reason why I’m here—”

“No. Do not speak further.” Juliana was shaking in front of him, the tears remaining in her eyes out of sheer will. Enough had been shed.

“I will not hear that news, general.”

“But, ginang—”

“I said  _ I will not hear it! _ ” Her voice had broken, yet the tears did not fall. And as Del Pilar took a step forward to try to placate her, she swung open the aparador and pulled out a pistol. Paco had told her to keep it in case anything happened, and right now? She was denying that anything happened.

“Ginang—”

She pointed the gun at Del Pilar.

“Get out of my house!”

But the general had other things in mind, and took another step forward. He rose his hand as a means of surrender to her plea, but he had a lot more to say. He promised Rusca this one last thing, and he would see this through.

_ You have to tell her in my stead. Make sure she doesn’t do anything rash. She’s very emotional when it comes to Paco, she probably loves him more than she loves herself. I’m certain she’d break down the moment you lay the news on her. And you’re not touching her, you fucking bastard. She’s really pretty, probably your type. Petite, wavy black hair, balingkinitan, pink lips, actually really your type. Her rose is even red, like the rest of your girls. Really bright red. Everyone in the kampo talked about her when she visited Paco once. The fucking dogs couldn't keep their hands to themselves. It got ugly quick, Paco almost shot a guy and he plucked a petal from someone’s rose. You know him, right? He never gets mad! The Heneral got so angry some of the soldiers got kicked out of the service that same afternoon. He suspended Paco for a week. _

He also swore to Rusca that he had changed.

_ Just… hug manang for me, okay? Take care of her even for just a few days. Play with the kids, tell them I love them. They’re technically your godchildren by association. Hug her tight. Please, Goyong, I just want to apologize to her for… Paco… Even though the son of a bitch chose someone else over her _ — _ I still can’t believe him! I don’t even know how I should tell her about that. Heck, I don’t even know if I should tell her! _

He promised so many things.

_ You know Joven, right? The kid doing interviews for a paper? I want to be so fucking mad, but he died on that ship that was recently sequestered by those filthy Americans. He was fighting on that ship, Goyong. He helped so many Filipinos escape that ship, and he died losing his rose to them! In full colour! How the hell am I supposed to feel?! How is Manang Huling supposed to feel! God, Paco. You should've thought this through before getting yourself shot in that fucking convent. You’re such an idiot! Heneral would be so angry _ —

Many,  _ many _ things.

_ Even Kuya Manuel didn’t say a word. José didn’t even know Paco was married because he wasn’t even enlisted at our camp yet when manang visited. And Kuya Manuel freaked the hell out when José found a ring in Paco’s quarters thinking he was gonna break the question to Joven! It was his fucking wedding ring, Goyong! His fucking _ — _! God! Paco, I swear to God I will revive you just to punch you in the fucking gut! With a chair! _

And if he couldn’t fulfill all of Rusca’s wishes, if he couldn’t honor Rusca’s death with Juliana’s peace of mind, then let the bullet from her pistol take his life. At least, he would finally be with him.

_ Please take care of her, Goyong. Even for just a few days, remind her she deserves so much better. But don’t fucking touch her, I swear to God I will hunt you down. Why do I fucking love you? _

Sadly, she missed. The lampara behind him, thankfully unlit, shattered. 

Maybe sometime later, Rusca.

_ Tell manang… tell her I love her so so much. She’s the sister I never had. And oh, I’d protect her from the world if she couldn’t already break both my arms. Send her my regards, send her my love, Goyong. Tell her she deserves to live. The world needs more of her kind of love. _

Juliana broke down in tears, dropping the pistol on the floor after realizing what she had done. She screamed her denial like it could change the facts, her knees barely protected by her  _ saya  _ from the broken glass of the lampara and the picture frame. Del Pilar had seen her weep twice before, but he had never seen her cry this much.

_ If her kind of love could save this wreck of a country, we never would have even seen the Spaniards. Just fucking—I don’t know...! Protect her! Good God, Goyong, make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. Make sure she won’t use the pistol Paco left, at least not on herself. I mean, she’d probably shoot you like twelve times if you tried anything funny—but that’s not the point!  _

She wept into her hands as Del Pilar kicked the shards away from her knees. He knelt to pick the rest off with his hands and threw them to the side. His hat was elsewhere with the letters littered around them. There was blood on the floor, and it stained his newly washed uniform. But that didn’t matter right now.

_ Just make sure, okay? Make sure she lives for the kids.  _

All of Rusca’s words, he remembered them verbatim. But now that he was in front of her, he didn’t know what to do. Should he talk? What should he say? Should he hug her? Comfort her? Console her?

_ Tell the kids I love them. _

His hands tried to hold hers but she swatted them away.

“Get away from me!”

“But ginang—”

A slap, a hard one across his face. Rusca wasn’t lying about her strength.

This was the second time  _ this month _ . Someone up there must have hated him, making him carry the burden of holding weeping widows in his arms, but duty was duty, and he was nothing but a gentleman. 

“You knew from the beginning!” she yelled, her voice cracking at every other syllable. Juliana’s breath hitched as she tried to speak through the tears. “Is that why you were treating me like that? You think I’d need a replacement?!”

Another slap. This time, harder.

“ _ No one will replace Francisco! _ ”

And oh, did his heart break.

“That— ginang, you’re mistaken. Please, hear me out! Román is—”

“He is  _ not  _ dead!”

She struggled, but he used his strength and held her hands firm.

“ _ Binibini. _ ”

He locked eyes with her.

“ _ Román is gone. _ ”

And so was her strength when she cried again into Del Pilar’s arms, just as she did on his first night in her home. He cradled her, rubbing her back as her tears drenched his coat. The general looked up, trying hard to stop his own tears from falling.  _ Am I doing this right, Dodong? Just send me a sign, anything! I can’t stand it when girls cry. How do I even tell her about Hernando— _

“Take me,” Juliana suddenly spoke.

_ What. _

She pulled away from him, her eyes looked like they were covered in thick glass. Her cheeks flushed the deepest shade of red he had ever seen. And her lips? Pink. Plump.  _ Sin.  _ If anything, her crying made her look… oddly seductive. “That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?  _ Then take me. _ ”

_ Dodong, this isn’t the sign I’m asking for— _

“Binibini, I’m not sure what you’re talking about...”

“Take me,  _ heneral _ ,” she grabbed him by the collar. “And after, take my life.”

(It had been a while since Del Pilar prayed. God was testing him, he was certain. How many saints did he even need to call? He’d say it did not matter, but he would probably need at least ten.)

He blinked at her sudden command.  _ Command.  _ Her brows, so thick and enticing, were scrunched and her eyes were focused on his. He didn’t want to believe what he just heard, but by the look on her face she seemed serious.  _ And desperate.  _ He still had things to say.

“Binibini, this isn’t right _ — _ mmph!”

But before he knew it, she had pulled him in by the collar and took his lips with her own. She tasted of kakanin and sweet mangoes.

(He corrected himself. He needed  _ fifteen _ saints, he made a mental note.)

She was commanding in her actions as much as she was with her words, and she took him like she owned him. No man would  _ take _ her but Paco, she had told Román herself after they wed. She kept mentioning it in passing, and it really seemed like she was true to her word. 

So here she was, deciding her fate like she had written it herself in quick scribbles for a final draft due ten minutes later. She was powerful for her small frame, Del Pilar thought, as her lips took his over and over. He had to remind himself she was older,  _ more experienced _ . But she was still a woman, and he was a soldier. He had to stand his ground.

Del Pilar pulled away to breathe. She was barely even panting, and it felt like she stole his breath out of his lungs. Her grip was still on his collar, and he was getting conscious of how disheveled he thought he appeared. But Juliana? She looked even  _ better.  _ Her hair was tousled about from her roughness, her eyes still glossed with tears that were yet to fall. Her lips, they were so pink and small and quivering from need. He never thought he would have the privilege to be taken by them. 

She looked so lost, her eyes searching his own for answers to questions she wouldn’t even dare ask. 

_ Is this right? I’m deciding, right? I’m in charge. I’m giving commands. To a general. And my life will be over right after this, and he will forget me like the rest of the girls he fucked. He seems like he has had a lot of them. I am different only because I told him that I am to be taken. And he will take me, then he will take my life. _

But despite that, she still managed to take him. And that boggled him so much. Her breath suddenly seemed so tempting to take from her mouth, and her neck was traced with sweat. The sun behind her made her shine in the afternoon haze.

There was a feeling in his gut, and a growing heat in his pants.

It had been a while.

The moment she bit her lower lip in a quick moment of uncertainty, he knew he was done for.

_ Twenty. I need twenty saints. _

The general gave in. Carnal desire turned to crazed intensity as he kissed her passionately, turned to strength as he lifted her from the floor and threw her on the bed. His body became the blanket that covered Juliana from the sun, that could protect her from the pain.

_ Román is gone. _

He repeated the clause in his head with every kiss they shared, every drop of tear he tasted, every bead of sweat that brushed on his face. Her grip on his collar loosened as she eventually ran her hands over his chest, her rose brushing against the buttons. Its red was slowly turning dark.

_ Gone. _

They shared breaths as he paused, foreheads touching in the haze. His gloved hands moved on their own, pulling down her baro and kamisa off her shoulders. Her knee brushed against his inner thigh as it made its way to his groin. He threw his head back at the sensation, he had never heard himself moan like that before.

_ Rusca is also gone. _

He looked to her for any sign that would ask him _ —beg _ him _ — _ to stop. But all he saw were blank eyes that were yet to dry and lips that urged him to go on. The fortress that Paco built around her crumbled beneath him. Her chest heaved, her back arched, her knee felt for the bulge in his pants.

He was but a boy. He didn’t know how else to continue but to follow his gut feel.

_ I wish she never missed. _

The ginang _ —the binibini _ —she pulled him back to her, her arms around his neck and her breath against his cheeks. He could have sworn he saw her mouth Román’s name. His lips took her neck, and from what her legs were doing to him, (oh, she was more skilled than he thought) he could only leave so many marks. She winced at the pain. He sucked and he bit, her tiny voice making him bite harder. Making him harder. “Harder.”

_ You could’ve just shot me twelve times like he said you would. Things would have been easier that way. _

She sobbed into the crook of his neck. Her body shook as her sadness became tremors that quaked the general's conscience. The pain in her heart had echoed throughout their small abode. And every beautiful memory of Paco etched in her soul became tears that drenched Del Pilar's coat.

_ Francisco. Paco. Mahal ko. _ She repeated in various order in between breaths. The general could only hold her in his arms.

Eventually, he slowly pushed his weight away from her. She was a mess.  _ But she still looks so gorgeous.  _ Juliana quivered beneath him like when he first saw her, her hands muffling her cries, her tears stinging the bite marks he left on her neck.

Maybe, he had also come to. He couldn’t stand it when girls cry, after all.

He frowned, more for himself and what he had done. That was at least three promises broken in less than fifteen minutes.

_ I’m sorry. _

“Juliana.”

He began.

“You’re strong. You’re a very strong woman.”

_ And I’m really sorry. _

“Maybe Román was wrong, but I speak the truth.”

_ Let all the souls in heaven curse me. _

“You… you deserve more than this… I have no right to take you or your life.”

_ But let me say what I have to say. _

“You have to live. Román was wrong. Maybe that was his punishment for being wrong.”

_ I don’t want you to live with more pain in your heart than you already have. _

“He should have chosen you.”

He said no further than that, that Paco should have chosen Juliana over his own country or over the journalist.  _ He should have loved you even more.  _ As long as Juliana knew her worth, it was fine.

The general had forgotten about his own needs at that moment, and sat Juliana up on the bed like a doll on a shelf. It was proper, he thought, as she looked like one. Sadly, boys like him can only admire beauties like her and not deserve them, he mused.  _ Even boys like Román.  _ But maybe it was for the better.

“Eduardo… Dodong said he loves you. So,  _ so _ much. I’m sure he would have loved the letters from the kids. He loves them more than anything.”

_ Can I even tell her that I am their godfather by association? _

She tugged lightly on Del Pilar’s sleeve, her rose visibly turning a darker color. He could already see signs of wilting, but instead he turned his attention to her line of sight. Certain she was eyeing the pistol on the floor, he barricaded himself in front of her, palms against the headboard behind her.

“Don’t!”

They shared breaths again, hers exhausted, but his more forced out by panic. His gaze made her avert her eyes, the skin on her neck flushed from his teeth. Blood and sweat trickled down to her chest as she moved ever so slightly to try and cover herself. 

_ I’m sorry. _

“Please… please don’t…”

The general took her in his arms, resting his nose where he left his marks on her neck, her collarbone, her chest. He couldn’t tell whether it was her or him who was shaking, but the important thing was that she could not reach for that gun. She seemed tired enough, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He kissed the wounds hoping he could undo them, but he knew he could only hope that they would heal with her heart.

Just then, Del Pilar was yanked away from her by the hair by a panicked Luisa, screaming profanities as she relentlessly hit him with a parasol she had picked up on the way upstairs. He needed at least  _ twenty five saints  _ now, he was sure this time. He could add all the names Luisa shouted at him just then to his pending list.

“You follow me to fucking  _ Cagayan _ …!  _ To what?!  _ To kill all the people I’ve ever loved? Picking them off, one by one?  _ Like the petals of Manuel’s rose?! _ ” 

On the way home, Luisa had left the children with their grandmother because the old lady had invited them all for lunch. She had taken the supplies the aide bought and asked Luisa to just fetch Juliana and her visitor  _ if she still had any  _ so they could all eat together _. _ It was a lucky day.

Del Pilar lost his footing at the mention of Bernal’s name. He fell on the floor as he shielded his face, a habit he could never let go, from the folded parasol. 

“Luisa, stop!”

And her aide did when she tugged at Luisa’s sleeve and pulled her arm. When he uncovered his face and stumbled to his feet, the parasol was forgotten on the floor, and Luisa had already covered her mistress with the bed sheets. Juliana looked back at him. She looked so small, but her gaze?  _ You’re right, Dodong. She’s strong. She’ll get through. _

For a split second, he could have sworn she smiled. 

Luisa scanned him, no open buttons and no open pants. His gun was still in its holster, and the pistol on the floor was far from his reach. She thought it was a miracle. There was nothing on his person but a drenched uniform (from the tears) and blood stains on his knees (from the broken glass). He was fixing his hair (she had pulled it with all her strength) and rubbing the back of his head from the pain. She was going to drop a few more punches or kicks but Juliana pulled her back.

“You…! How  _ dare  _ you lay your filthy hands on señora?! Stay away from her!”

_ To be honest, I’d rather stay here than go back. _

“I just… came to break the news. I didn’t even know you moved here until yesterday. But you never told her. You were in Cabanatuan when it happened, right?”

Juliana looked at her, and Luisa stopped dead. But he took it as an opportunity to finally  _ formally  _ say his piece. He picked up his hat, dusted himself, and stood like he was in the presence of someone higher than him in rank. In his mind, it was Juliana.

“Col. Francisco Velasquez Román died several days ago in Cabanatuan. He was… killed in action.”

And he wished he would never lie again after this.

“He was with Gen. Antonio Luna, who was also killed. And Ed—Cap. Eduardo Rusca was arrested and was to be transferred to a camp in Cebu. But the ship—”

He looked down, he didn’t want to continue. 

“I… brought his rayadillo to Cagayan, along with his other things, as it is customary for the belongings of soldiers to go home to their spouses. Eduardo… he asked me to personally bring these to you. They are in that tampipi I left by the bed. I apologize, binibini.”

He then turned his attention to Luisa, her hands closed in fists. He couldn’t tell if she was quivering in fear or shaking in anger, but he believed the latter. She was shielding Juliana from him, he can tell. Other than that, he can tell of other things. But he’d rather not stay to talk about them.

_ We’re just human beings with simple needs, after all. _

“I know I’m no longer welcome, so I will take my leave. Good afternoon...  _ Juliana _ .”

He took his things he already packed the night before, and stepped outside of the room. He looked back at Juliana, who was now hugging the photograph from the frame broken earlier. Luisa had given it to her, along with Paco's uniform and the letters on the floor.

_ It still smells like their headquarters in Bagbag. And I've only been there once. Small and quaint, reflective of the caretaker. He was the epitome of yearning for home, just like kakanin and sweet mangoes, just like the tobacco from Alcala. _


	4. Dusk 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr version here](http://dettsu.tumblr.com/post/136540142070/three-nights-into-the-dark-iv).

The señora fell asleep against her bosom after she’d helped her calm her down. The sun was setting, the sky orange in the distance, and it reminded her of Del Pilar’s rose. It left a sinking sensation in her gut not unlike stones in a river, and quietly she tucked her mistress into bed, before shuffling outside. 

Her throat felt parched, like she’d hadn’t a drop of water for ages. She’d picked up the parasol she hit Del Pilar with on her way out, and it sat like a heavy metal pipe in her hand. Luisa shut the door quietly behind her, uttering a barely-audible, “ _ Sleep well, señora, _ ” before she pressed her back to the door to close her eyes.

She drew in a deep, shaking breath, and began to sob. She buried her face in her hands, trembling the worst since she’d learned of Manuel’s death, and slid to the floor, burying her sobs as best as she could in her knees as she hugged them tight. It was good the children weren’t around to see this. Imagine the hell that would have been.

She hiccuped, and just let the tears flow, biting hard down on the cloth of her skirt.

Del Pilar had nearly done something unforgivable again. He would have played with Juliana first, and then he would have killed her, and it’d be the same thing all over again for Luisa. Grief. Pain. Loss. She’d had enough of it. 

Once was more than enough.

It was fear that pushed her through that door. She’d heard Juliana’s yelling from when she’d entered the house, and then her sobs before she reached the door. Del Pilar was still in their home, and Juliana was frightened. There was a gunshot, and shattering glass. Luisa knew she had to  _ do something _ .

_ Señora… she’s so small. She would be powerless against him! His body would tower over her small frame, and he would take her like he owned her. Like he owned her body, like he owned her life…! _

But of course, she did not know the truth behind those closed doors, that Del Pilar himself had shed tears to ask Juliana for forgiveness. And he never took her. If anything,  _ she  _ took him. And he followed her like she was his President and Commander-in-Chief, the sole voice in his head. He had no choice. Her eyes tore him apart and her lips pulled him back together. Over and over again.

_ What else could he have done?! He would have… p-pinned her against the wall and… and b-bit at her neck like a wolf to his prey! Where else would those marks come from?! He would have slapped her and thrown her on the bed. I’m sure señora would have fought back but at gunpoint… s-she would have thought of the children... She would have lifted her legs and let him do as he pleased. He probably laughed while he did _ — _ and on Señor’s bed! Over and over…! He wouldn’t stop even if she cried _ —

_ No man should be doing things like that to a lady. He should be treating her right, gently, like _ — _ like she was made of glass. A porcelain doll kept on the top shelf of the living room display so she would not get hurt, accidentally or intentionally. Like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. She should kiss her softly, look into her eyes as they made love, and she should hold her close, whisper sweet nothings to her, and make her feel safe _ —

**_It should have been me in his place._ **

_ Dear God, forgive my sinful thoughts. I need repentance.  _

Juliana’s scream cut her from her trance, and like a cue for the stage at a zarzuela, Luisa took the nearest thing she could reach, a parasol, and rushed to the master bedroom. Never mind the fear in her gut, that unsettling pull in her chest when she visualized what Del Pilar could do. She had to get there, and  _ fast _ .

The last time she’d ever been remotely violent was with Del Pilar, too. When he’d tried doing  _ something  _ to her, right after he’d told her Manuel was gone. Back then it’d been instinct, to slap him  _ hard _ on his face, and curse him out. It was anger, boiling in the sea of grief flooding her head that poured from her mouth—

_ “If this war doesn’t kill you first, then I will _ .”

She couldn’t. Dear God, she couldn’t do the same thing he could. 

(The one time she killed someone was that one time she held a gun in her hand. There had been no time to think. Americans were rushing in, and she and Manuel were pinned down where they were hiding. She pulled out the gun from his holster and shot the nearest soldier pinning them down behind the upturned karitela.

She’d cried into his shoulder the whole night.)

She waited for her sobs to subside alone, and by the time she’d quietened down to little hiccups and mild tremors, the sun had set, and the world was turning dark around her. The orange sky was now purple, turning black, and she jumped at the sound of a bell at the door.

“Issa? Dear, is Señorita Juliana alright? Señora Román said she had a fever so I brought medication for her. Is that why she couldn’t go?” 

It was Señora Román’s aide, Jun, pink-rosed and sweet. And if there was one thing Luisa could count on him for, it was his silence. 

She hurried to the door, and she smothered his surprised yell with her hand. Jun gaped at her, looking at the blood on her dress, and Luisa shook her head. 

“Jun, I'm sorry, but I need your help.” She said. “The señor—Román, he'd been killed in action.”

“Wha—what now?” Jun stammered, “But Señorita Juliana—”

“She… she took it very hard.”

_ Amongst other things. But no one else needs to know that.  _

“What about the children?”

“Could you… not tell them first? Have Señora Román know, but not them.” Luisa bit her lip, and she didn't miss the way Jun’s eyes darted at them. There was time for him later. “Just—don't have the children come home tonight. Please.”

“Of course.” Jun nodded, and Luisa did her best to smile at him, despite the circumstances. “Issa.”

“Yes?”

He smiled at her gently, and held her cheek. “I'm here to listen, don't worry.”

She shook her head, and pulled away from him. “Thank you, Jun. But I’ll be fine,” she forced another smile, “Kiss the children good night for us, I’m sure their grandmother will make them spend the night there.”

She dared not look back at him as he left. She had a room to clean, and a mistress to comfort. Her inner demons could wait.

* * *

_ The señora had missed lunch, Luisa. _ It was a weak argument she came up herself, as she walked towards the master bedroom. Tray in hand, her steps were slow. She took a deep breath.  _ She needs food. It’s way past dinner; the children aren't around tonight.  _

She’d be all alone with her mistress, that was for sure.

All alone, with those beautiful eyes, strong brows, the soft curve of her face, of her neck, of her breasts—

Luisa took a shuddering breath, her whole body quivering, and it was just like those nights she had alone in Cabanatuan, missing—no,  _ yearning _ for Manuel, shivering and hot, and a downright mess, confused as to what to do, unsure how to sate herself. No one had ever taught her anything, and this— _ this _ was  _ brand new _ .

Was she…?

“Dear God, no.” she sighed, shaking her head, shuddering. “I love Manuel. I love…”

_ Juliana _ .

She shook her head wildly. If she loved her mistress  _ like that _ , she was committing a sin. Manuel would never forgive her for that.

Luisa steeled herself. She was strong. She wouldn’t fall for her. She wouldn’t be someone like Del Pilar.

The aide had always left the door open after Del Pilar left, after the shards of glass were thrown away, after the pistol on the floor this afternoon was kept elsewhere; where Juliana wouldn’t look for it. 

And there she was, still half-naked on the bed, the wounds on her neck visible in the dim light of the moon. Juliana was still hugging Señor Román’s uniform, barely covering her chest. Luisa could hear her faintly humming that lullaby, the one she wrote for her husband all those years ago, the one she always sang to his shirts when she kept the laundry.

And she sang with so much sorrow, it should have been the last song he heard every night before he slept. Before he slept forever.

The floor creaked when she entered, and Juliana paused for a while, but continued when she saw Luisa place the tray of food on a nearby table. The aide fiddled with her thumbs, nerves still on end from what happened this afternoon. She hoped there wouldn’t be a third encounter with a general in khaki. If there would be, hopefully his blood be spilt by her own hands. But she knew she didn’t have that kind of willpower.

If Juliana wasn’t able to defend herself with a pistol, how could she?

And just as she was about to speak, Juliana stopped singing.

“You were from Cabanatuan, Luisa?”

She gulped.

“Señora, I can explain—”

Juliana tilted her head and rested it on the headboard, her hair flowed in waves as her neck reflected the moonlight ever so beautifully.

“You knew? About Eduardo? About Paco?”

Shame coiled in her gut. “I was there that day… when it happened…”

The wind outside blew subtly, the leaves of the mango tree by the window made the moonlight dance. It was a light show on Juliana’s skin.

“You never told me anything.”

“I… didn’t want to hurt you. I know what it’s like.”

Silence fell over them, heavy and weary, and Luisa didn’t know what else to do. But Juliana had a lot of words in her head, most of them unspoken to Del Pilar, to Eduardo. To Paco.

“You know what it’s like?”

The señora spoke as she ran her hands over her shoulders, the curves of her body, reminiscing those calloused palms that used to give her so much warmth. She looked up, hoping maybe this time, the tears wouldn’t fall. But  _ oh _ , how the moonlight shone on her.

“It was waiting for your husband to come home after a long day of work, yearning to feel his breath by your neck, to hear his heart beat in his chest, to listen to his poems he wrote for you on his way home. But you wake up by yourself on your own bed just as you slept the night before.

It was hearing him promise again and again that he sang to you, he courted you, he loved you, he married you, and not the  _ Heneral _ . Not the entire kampo. Not the entire cause. Not the entire country.

It was lying to the children every day, telling them their father was coming home soon because you always left him an extra plate on the table, because you always cooked more than what you can eat, because there’s always space beside you on the bed, because the no one else but him can reach for the extra lampara on the shelf if the children broke another one.

It was kissing him good night everyday when he leaves for Manila, on horseback, on karitela, on foot. Good night for all the nights he will miss being with you, good night even when the sun shone bright burned your skin, good night just in case he would no longer make it home.

It was protecting you from his own soldiers when you thought you’d visit him once, unwanted hands touched you like you were a free-for-all prize for their lazy efforts of patriotism. When he almost shot someone because they grabbed you like meat for dogs to share, when he plucked petals from someone’s rose out of anger. And never in your entire life have you seen him lose his temper. 

It was sending you back to the hacienda in Cagayan because Manila became dangerous, because American soldiers almost took you away from him one night when you weren’t under his watchful eye. When he had to make a decision he knew I would never agree with. And he forced me out of our own house, carelessly threw our important things into one tampipi, and gave me the only pistol he had on his person, risking his life to get me and our children out of Manila. When you had to calm your children down in the train because they will be far away from their father while he is fighting a war miles away from home, uncertain if it will even be won.

It was more painful than anything, it was—”

“It was like a curse, was it?” Luisa asked, and she stopped.

“No,” she sighed, “To go through intense pain is not suffering. It’s like—”

“—accepting a blessing? Like love?” Luisa continued for her, Juliana’s voice dying on her lips, and tears welled in her eyes. The younger woman sighed, and shuffled closer to her mistress’s bed. “I know how it feels, señora.

It was meeting him on the battlefield, falling in love in the middle of gunfire, cannonball explosions, the threat of death as constant as the forward march of time. The earth flying above our heads, showering us with dread, with the fear of loss, even when he holds your hand like it was the one thing keeping him alive, or when he holds you close, like you’re the most precious thing he’d ever had in his life.

It was spilling blood for him, for the first time, in the heat of panic, and rage, and worry, and all things inbetween. Fearing not just for his life, but the Americans, for  _ your _ own life, and what blood on their hands would be on yours for life as well. No amount of tears on his uniform’s shoulder could wash that off.

It was accepting the promise that he’ll marry you, that he’ll take care of you, even without a ring, or without our parents’ blessing. Without the money to afford a church, without enough people for a proper entourage. Just the kampo, some friends, most of them probably dead at that point, or even arrested. 

It was saying goodbye to him, never knowing it would be the last until you never get to say hello again, never get to kiss his lips again, or hear him say your name like it was the sweetest thing he ever says. Like he was praising God himself by the breaths it took to wrap his voice around your name.

It was holding his petals in your hands, getting violated by his murderer, and summoning what little strength you had left, just to even speak. To hit him, to threaten his life with words you know you’ll never carry out. Words you know are just hollow promises. Words you know will never bring him back to you, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you cry. No matter how much you begged God to bring him back to you.

It was falling in love with a soldier, señora. And the price that war widows have to pay… is a heavy price.”

“I didn’t know you were poetic.” Juliana’s voice cracked, and the irony that echoed in them went unheard to their ears.

“I’ve had a…” Luisa sighed. “... Good influence.”

“And it grows on you, doesn’t it?”

Luisa could only smile sadly. 

“We were supposed to be married, you know,” they weren’t even engaged, her mind told her, and she furiously stomped the thought down. “But he—” her voice broke, and she fought the tears from coming back to her eyes. She’d finished all of them earlier, hadn’t she? She had to stay strong. She couldn’t cry. Not here. “He—he was—killed. Tortured. By Del Pilar. He brought his petals to me to tell me himself.”

Juliana’s eyes widened at that, and turned to her. Luisa couldn’t keep this pretense of strength up anymore. Not when she was looking at her with so much shock, so much…  _ pity _ in her eyes. Whatever glass walls Luisa had managed to pull up around her, Juliana shattered so easily with just that single glance. 

_ The power this small woman had. It was, truly, worthy of a soldier’s widow. _

Luisa was wrong about worrying if she had broken. Juliana was strong. 

(How she’d wished she would be a woman like her. But she wasn’t. She probably never will be.)

“Luisa.” Juliana’s voice had none of the authority in it when she spoke. It was soft, hoarse from grief and the weariness of mourning. Luisa’s vision began to swim, rainbows scattering and shaking in the tears collecting in her eyes. “It’s alright to cry.”

“Señora, I’m so sorry for keeping it from you,” she began to sob, and Juliana beckoned her closer. Luisa’s legs carried her to her mistress’s side, and she collapsed on the bed to pull her into a tight hug, sobbing into the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry—I should have—I should have—”

“Shh,” Juliana’s voice was steady, but there was a wetness in Luisa’s hair that was not from her tears. The ginang— _ binibini _ —was crying, too, and the both of them fell silent, pressed against each other as Luisa sobbed into the smooth skin of her shoulder. “Things will get better.”

Her tears probably stung her mistress’s bruises and cuts, left by Del Pilar before he tried taking her, and she was probably hurting Juliana with how hard she was hugging her. 

(She wasn’t.)

Yet—in Juliana’s embrace, Luisa couldn’t help but feel lighter. Safer. Like Del Pilar was the shadow of a bad dream stuck in the back of her head, never to return. Juliana was like a light chasing him away to the darkness of her mind. And as her sobs began to quiet down, and her grip on Juliana started loosening up, she managed to spare her a smile, albeit a broken one, before handing her the dinner she’d neglected to have.

And, as comfortable silence returned, and red once again coloured Juliana’s cheeks and her rose. It bloomed so beautifully under the light of the moon. Seeing it like that made Luisa believe. She had the audacity to believe things would be okay again. And she hoped for better days ahead. 

She hoped.

Dear  _ God _ , did she hope.


End file.
